» tucked next to the old gas mask bag he'd kept since his service.
“You sound educated,” He adds, part compliment, mostly skepticism, “You from Cambridge? Oxford? I've got some friends from there...”
Something's off, and he can't shake the feeling — but Nazis have never been the type for sharing, let alone responding to threats with peace offerings. So at least that takes her off the list.
“...Fine, you don't sound like a kraut, but don't try anything.” He mutters »
(↓)
<—
unconvinced, well..."
An unlikely scenario, but this man seemed volatile.
"You can have it — and its twin. You may leave thoroughly unharmed and go right back home."
Her eyes soften.
"What do you say, friend?"
» curiosity gets the best of him, evident by the way his gaze sways from the dame in favor of the replica.
“... Where'd you find that anyways? Who are you?” He asks after, brown eyes still deeply fixated while he slowly lowers the revolver back into place at his hip, »
(↓)
The hammer clicks back with a snap of his thumb, and his finger on the trigger tenses, just enough to show he means it.
“The homeland, huh? You may not sink your teeth into those wubbies the same, but I knew my gut was right about you.” He levels the weapon. “I won’t »
(↓)
"Berlin?"
Her brows furrow, and she takes a slow look down at the artefact in—hand. It creaks, glass against the leather of her gloves.
"I'm returning this to its rightful owner. Museums are full of thieves, especially my homeland's. You can come with me, if you wish, but
—>
Indy arches a brow, his eyes narrowing with a faint, exasperated roll. His voice carries a sharp, no-nonsense edge, cutting through the tension in the midst of a standoff.
“Good thing I didn't ask for the gun. Hand over the artifact, and you can be back on your way to berlin.”